


Far Have We Fallen

by JazzRaft



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Biting, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:44:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9443747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: He hated him and he hated himself and whatever was going on in Noctis’s broken mind, Ravus thought it was the same. Self-loathing and mutual resentment, and a terrible desperation for something.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nicrt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicrt/gifts).



> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://jazzraft.tumblr.com/post/155917888502/ahh-im-a-noctis-and-nyx-shipper-at-heart-and) for the "Push" prompt in [this post.](http://jazzraft.tumblr.com/post/155862556736/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-prompt)

The doors opened and Noctis stumbled in. Ravus dismissed the guards that dragged him there with a curt nod. The doors closed and the room was silent. Imprisonment had been far from kind to the prince. He was unsteady on his feet, swaying dangerously. His eyes were unfocused and encircled by dark, sleepless shadows. Dirt and dried blood were pronounced against the paleness of his face, as well as stained on his ripped clothes. He was a pitiful sight, crooked by pain and haunted by it. The Niflheim jailers left their marks on his skin, but Ravus recognized Ardyn’s handiwork in the bruises of his mind.

“Did you have them bring me up here to gloat or what?” Noctis asked when the silence went on for too long, his voice like gravel scraping in his throat.

“I see that they haven’t beaten all of the spite out of you just yet.”

Maybe not all of it, but most of it. When Noctis spoke, it was to the floor. Something about that bothered Ravus, but he didn’t know what or why. Not like he knew what it was when he would pass near the dungeons and hear the screaming. Something different and darker, pulled from a deep, jealous place crammed low at the pit of Ravus’s soul. That feeling bothered him for a litany of different reasons than this one did.

“Stand up straight,” he scoffed. “Your posture’s atrocious for a king.”

“You and I both know that’s never gonna happen.”

Noctis laughed, a small, broken sound. Ravus frowned. He never thought he’d hate being right. Noctis wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough to avoid capture, good enough to escape on his own, good enough to wear the Ring of the Lucii, or good enough to sit the Lucian throne. Ravus had been saying it for decades, apparently the only one in the whole world convinced of it. And now that the proof of it was standing right in front of him, _barely_ standing, it wasn’t satisfaction he felt. It was disgust.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, turning away.

“I’m surprised you’re not down there most nights,” Noctis said, a cruelty he’d learned in his prison cell poisoning his voice. “You’d just love to be the one holding the knife, wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t pretend to know me, Caelum!”

Ravus spun around and shoved at his chest, pushing him against the wall. Noctis winced, but didn’t push back, almost grateful for something to lean on. He was weak, _defeated_ , and he still thought he had the right to insult Ravus by comparing him to the scum of the Niflheim army. A small voice in the back of his head agreed with Noctis, and maybe that was what made him so angry. That the one thing they could agree on was how far Ravus had fallen. _Not as far as you, though_ , he thought, glaring at the man slumped against the wall.

“A few days away from your comfy motels and this is what becomes of you?” he spat.

“You wanna trade places? Be my fucking guest.”

Ravus grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, bumping his head against the wall. “Get it together, Caelum! My sister died for you, damnit!” He didn’t know why he was so angry. This was what he’d wanted. He’d wanted Luna and Lucis and the Astrals and the whole universe to see Noctis for what he really was, but the only one left to see his point made was Ravus. And when faced with it, he realized it wasn’t what he’d wanted at all.

Not even the mention of Luna could resurrect the rebellion in Noctis. He just glared dully at him, blue eyes vacant and destroyed. Maybe it was to trigger some kind of response that inspired Ravus to do what he did next. Maybe it was the grief for his dead sister that had gone unfelt that did it, and the fact that the only other person that might share the devastation he felt over it was crippled right in front of him. Maybe it was none of that and all of that.

Ravus grabbed a fistful of the prince’s hair and crushed his face against his own, kissing him hard. If there was any strength left in Noctis, it went into a weak push of his arm against Ravus’s chest. A brief flicker of objection before his body relented, but it wasn’t in resignation. His hands turned to clutch at Ravus’s coat, looking for something to hold onto. Ravus didn’t really know what that meant and he didn’t really care. He hated him and he hated himself and whatever was going on in Noctis’s broken mind, Ravus thought it was the same. Self-loathing and mutual resentment, and a terrible desperation for _something_.

Ravus kicked his shaking knees apart, stepping between his thighs and pressing Noctis to the wall. He forced his lips open, not asking for an invitation and burrowing his tongue deep into his mouth. Noctis tried to give back half of what Ravus gave, but the days spent in the dungeons had worn him down. Ravus pulled on his hair to punish him for it. He wanted to conquer the prince, but he wanted to fight him for it. He wanted a victory, not a surrender. And he wouldn’t let him pretend.

Noctis grunted against the sharp tug and sunk his teeth into the inside of Ravus’s lip. The Commander flinched back, tasting blood, and Noctis’s fingers curled tighter into his collar, pulling him back onto his mouth insistently. Ravus grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the wall with a loud bang, a warning and a fetter to allow Ravus a second of breath. Noctis tried to reach his lips again, but Ravus drew just out of reach, nails digging into his bruised wrists and commanding him to stop.

Noctis looked up at him from the dark shadows of his eyes, a plea there for something, _anything_ , he didn’t care what it was. A touch that wasn’t a mailed fist in his stomach or Ardyn’s fingertips planting razor-blades in his brain. He’d take comfort wherever he could get it at this point, and there was a horrible, twisted feeling in Ravus’s stomach that wanted the same thing. He understood the prince’s suffering all too well. There was no one else that could relieve it in the other like they could.

He surged forward again, Noctis’s mouth open to him this time, split lips pliant and starving. Ravus’s hips ground against his, drawing a low moan from deep within Noctis’s chest. His heels grazed the floor, hooking around the back of Ravus’s calves, anchoring himself around the other man and kissing, biting, ceaselessly. Ravus released one of his arms to yank Noctis’s head back, exposing the soft flesh of his neck for him to bite into. Noctis shuddered and gasped, hand tangling into his silver mane of hair, making clumsy, painful knots that Ravus bit him for over and over again and Noctis loved the punishment.

Ravus dropped his arms to the bottom of the prince’s shirt, bunching it up over his chest and shoving the hem between his teeth so that he could devour the scarred skin underneath. Noctis’s moans were muffled, but consistent, head rolling back against the wall, obediently letting Ravus bite and lick and suck and tear him apart. Purple bruises and scarlet knife-wounds littered the white skin, and all Ravus could taste was bitter iron and he didn’t care.

He hated him and he wanted him, to be what he’d always wished he would be. He hated him when he turned Noctis around and slammed his face into the wall. He wanted him when he wrapped a hand over his eyes and wound his fingers through his bangs. His awful daemonic arm curled around the prince’s waist, jerking him back against his hardness and grinding against him. Noctis choked on a gasp, one hand against the wall, scrabbling for balance, the other wrapped around the wrist against his face.

Ravus growled into his neck, a primal starvation urging him to bite harder, grind deeper, and it consumed him and terrified him and felt so far beyond his control, but he wanted it and Noctis wanted it – the _sounds_ he made – and he almost let it take the both of them.

But then the guards knocked on the door. Told him from the other side that they had to return the prisoner to his cell. Ravus’s mouth was so full of his skin and his hair that he couldn’t answer at first. Noctis’s head tilted to the door and a small, distressed whine caught in his throat. And then Ravus remembered where he was, _who_ he was, and if he thought he could lose control in a place like this then he must have gone mad.

“One moment,” he shouted back to the guards when he recovered his voice, unbinding his arms from around Noctis and dropping him against the wall.

Noctis staggered, catching himself there, breathing heavy. He looked back at Ravus, eyes glassy and pleading, dreading the cold cell and the cruel hands and begging him for salvation. But Ravus wasn’t a savior. Neither of them were.

“Enter,” he ordered the guards.

Noctis latched onto his arm, knees barely keeping him standing. “No! Please, _please_ …”

“Return the prisoner to his cell. The chancellor will be back soon.”

True terror overtook Noctis then and he struggled feebly against the guards as they grabbed ahold of him and dragged him from the room, begging for Ravus to help him long after he was out of sight. There was no help that he could give him though. Noctis wasn’t the only prisoner in Niflheim


End file.
